I was having a “discussion” with some of my friends the other day about the difference between being the youngest child and the oldest child. The eldest children get a lot of attention, sure, but only until the newer, cuter versions come out (see every i-whatever release in the history of time). The one thing that all of us could agree on is that youngest children, hands down, have it SO much easier than we did.
Our parents are tired. Who could blame them? They’ve been raising children for most of their lives at this point, and I’m sure the thought has crossed their minds: “Well, the other ones are fine, so she will be too.”
Anyway, this is my youngest sister. Please ignore the bookshelves in the back. They’re an eyesore, for sure, but Lightroom won’t let me cut them out, so they’re preserved for all eternity, okay? 🙂
P.S. — This one (the sister, not me), just got a job as a barista. Pray that she won’t serve you coffee if she’s been drinking it, or you might have a touch too much energy mixed into your latte. 🙂